Irman Harefoot
Noct Yaegir
- Messages
- 12
- Character Biography
- Link
The town of Quarry Hill was named as such for the gargantuan pile of stones that the town was first settled around. The stones had been dug up long ago by the deep reaching mines of ancient dwarven kingdoms, piled high as the dwarves carved through The Spine. Countless years later, as human expansion began onto the spine, the deep mountain stones piled at Quarry Hill became a vital commodity. Eventually though, the town became a trading hub and grew tremendously. Countless old dwarven roads had led to Quarry Hill, so it was in many ways at the heart of the numerous villages popping up throughout the Spinal Midlands.
Being a trade city so close to dwarven lands, Quarry Hill had no shortage of Bars. Many were of great repute such as the Flowering Keg, the Blushing Bishop, or the Wicked Mouse. But all were well liked save one. The Crooked Noose: a shit hole by all regards. Just outside the town’s stone walls in a shanty town of vagrants and brigands, marked by a dirty wooden sign and the stench of vomit as no less than five dirty men lay about the front entrance on any given night. The current mayor had been elected on a platform that he would finally close the Crooked Noose, he failed.
Irman Harefoot sat at the bar opposite the barkeep, a mountain of a man who called himself ‘Mr. Thumb’. Irman was not the Noose’s normal kind of clientele, even dressed down from his usual attire he stood out. There were the obvious reasons of course, Irman looked like a rabbit contorted into the shape of a thin dwarf and had cotton balls shoved into his ears; but he also clearly had some money and standing to his name. A well off mercenary like him could afford far better, but far better couldn’t get him away from what he had seen just a few days prior or what he was stuck doing now.
Irman shoved his mug to Mr Thumb with a couple silver coins and watched as the man went to fill the mug with more watery beer.
“It feels like I’m drinking a swamp” Irman mused, his speech finally starting to slur a bit.
Irman went to take the refilled Mug from Mr Thumb when all of a sudden he felt someone tapping him on the back.
Being a trade city so close to dwarven lands, Quarry Hill had no shortage of Bars. Many were of great repute such as the Flowering Keg, the Blushing Bishop, or the Wicked Mouse. But all were well liked save one. The Crooked Noose: a shit hole by all regards. Just outside the town’s stone walls in a shanty town of vagrants and brigands, marked by a dirty wooden sign and the stench of vomit as no less than five dirty men lay about the front entrance on any given night. The current mayor had been elected on a platform that he would finally close the Crooked Noose, he failed.
Irman Harefoot sat at the bar opposite the barkeep, a mountain of a man who called himself ‘Mr. Thumb’. Irman was not the Noose’s normal kind of clientele, even dressed down from his usual attire he stood out. There were the obvious reasons of course, Irman looked like a rabbit contorted into the shape of a thin dwarf and had cotton balls shoved into his ears; but he also clearly had some money and standing to his name. A well off mercenary like him could afford far better, but far better couldn’t get him away from what he had seen just a few days prior or what he was stuck doing now.
Irman shoved his mug to Mr Thumb with a couple silver coins and watched as the man went to fill the mug with more watery beer.
“It feels like I’m drinking a swamp” Irman mused, his speech finally starting to slur a bit.
Irman went to take the refilled Mug from Mr Thumb when all of a sudden he felt someone tapping him on the back.